


Royal Sweetheart

by Aithilin



Series: Festive Food Fluffs [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life, high tea, seasonal events, spring festival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 11:44:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13926480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: There's a spring tea and dinner every year. This is the first year Nyx was there as a guest and not a guard.





	Royal Sweetheart

When the seasons shifted in the endless city of Insomnia, it was often with little fanfare. The snows that blanketed the northern and coastal districts receded into wet slush and occasional flurries, while the southern and western gates could feel the rush of warm air moving across the guardian wastes of Leide and the border of Cavaugh. The people of Insomnia, at the very heart of the city itself, often missed the whole transition from winter to summer. The temperate heart of the royal bastion awash in carefully cultivated blossoms for a short period among the more mild temperatures. The gardens— under the care of a small army of gardeners and horticulturists collected from across Eos— flourished as a symbol of what spring in the kingdom should look like. 

Nyx had stood guard during the tradition of the Vernal Equinox royal dinners and teas and celebrations for years. He had stood, solid and shadowed, in his heavy uniform while he watched ladies in dresses as light and frilled as flower petals danced and pandered to the other nobles around them. He had watched— the stern cast of Bahamut emblazoned on his armour— as flashes and splashes of colour peeked through formal suits and across the garden terraces and patios of the Citadel. 

He had never expected to be joining the party from the other side of the divide. 

“Are you sure about this?”

“No.”

It was the first time that Noctis had brought a date to a truly public event. To a simple tea party that would draw the attention of every media source in the kingdom hungry for some scrap of new information from the shy prince. Nyx remembered the year Prompto had been his guest to this whole event fondly, as the duo first tried to flounder their way through accusations that they were a couple, and then running off to play video games in the privacy of Noct’s old apartments. 

There was no escaping this announcement, though. 

Nyx wished he had been allowed to wear his armour. 

More than a month ago, before the snows had even melted, Noct had dragged him off to the tailors who outfitted most of the men in the royal household. He had stood as Ignis conferred with the equally stern tailor over swatches of material and colour until he was manhandled over to be measured like a mannequin. He had glared at his prince while Noct snickered at his discomfort, watching with clear appreciation until he was shooed from the shop entirely for ‘distracting the subject’. He had waited, with a soldier’s patience and poise, while Ignis reassured him that he was doing fine, that the first time was always awkward, and that the suit that would result from the ordeal would be complementary to Noct’s. 

He had much preferred to watch Noct go through the same process. To see the familiar little smirk tease the prince’s lips as he stood dutifully for measurements and fittings and subsequent fittings in the private little shop. 

He thought his dress uniform would have been just fine for the event. Even among the light, bright colours of the Lucian nobility and the visiting Accordans. Even among the more energetic, demanding army of media and photographers. He would have preferred the sense of formality that it gave him, rather than the alien sensation of being in a suit. Of having a tie— expertly checked and re-knotted by Ignis— around his neck and the weight of a lighter jacket over his shoulders. 

Noct, Nyx could admit, looked like he had been built for these sorts of affairs. His dark suit cut with a touch of spring colour— the soft blue to complement his eyes, to match the same softness in the King’s own chosen colours. To match the delicate blossoms and first blooms of the season as they spread across the Citadel gardens. 

Noct slipped his arm into Nyx’s and led with more confidence than either of them felt beneath the rush of attention and cameras. 

“Just ignore them,” Noct muttered, as they crossed the garden to the pavilion that had been set in place to ward off the afternoon spring sun. As he brought Nyx to the royal table, where Regis was smiling and waiting, looking far too mischievous for just a proud father.

“Like you do?”

It was a simple little tease, and Nyx grinned as he got Noct settled first. They would be obscured by the small tower of serving trays balanced on the small table. By the colourful confections and selection of light sandwiches they were meant— according to Iggy— look at more than eat.

“Bottom to top,” Noct spoke while leaning in, while his father stood to address the gathered few there for the party— the Lucian nobility silencing their whispers and the media’s focus moving quickly from prince to king. 

The first tier of the serving platter was the savouries— wedges of sandwiches decorated by leafy greens and an abundance of vegetables on the light breads. There were little rolls flanking the wedges, temptations for rich butters and cheeses and all sorts of the strange concoctions on display. Noct pointed out what was what— the herb cheeses and butters, colourful with the decorative blossoms that Nyx assumed were safe to eat. Nyx could smell the rosemary from them, rising on the steam from the fresh portions presented to the royal table.

And Noct offered a grin as he reached for the scones on the tier above. An equal offering of choice, the scones seemed to be set from savoury, heavy, spiced batters, to the sweeter and more plain meant for the selection of jams. Nyx could see the diced, light meat baked into the flaky batter, and the decorative platter of adjacent cheeses hinting at what else had been worked in. He smiled, as Noct claimed the first sweet of the lunch, only to be matched by the king— the two sharing an expectant look over the small pots of jam.

They all knew that this was only a starter. That there was a dinner later, that this was meant to be a pleasant introduction and taste to prepare them. And Nyx knew that the king would be snatched up by the media during the quiet moments when the tea was done, when the dust and crumbs had settled and the heady buzz of conversation turned to frivolous pleasantries for the papers and news spots, during an event that would be emulated throughout the city. In what would seem like a few moments, the prince would be allowed to disappear for a short time while the king extended the season’s pleasantries. They would no longer be huddled together as they were, as a father and son, negotiating the division of raspberry jam for lemon-rosemary scones. 

Around them— the pavilion and its selective gathering— seemed to vanish in favour of the diplomatic debate over which of them got first taste (Regis won). Over which of them selected from the sweets first— Noct reaching for the small cupcakes first, offering the strawberry carved to look like a butterfly to Nyx. The buzz of talk around them fell away, and Nyx smiled as he watched the pair relax together, marvelling at the delicate curls of icing and pick away at the greens that offended them both. It was easy then— as the afternoon dragged on and the cups and plates were cleared, as the King rose to greet his guests and Noct dragged him off to hide from the fuss under the guise of stretching his legs— to forget that this was something formal and proper. Even as Ignis tried to herd them back towards the main pavilion, not awash with delicate lights as the afternoon sun dipped below the skyline. 

Nyx had been happy to slip away from it all. To seek out the blossoms that had been carefully cultivated for the event. To settle with some semblance of privacy for a few moments with Noct, pressing a kiss to the prince’s knuckles, palm, wrist, lips, as Noct blushed and grinned and dragged him around to search out the Galahdian transplants. Nyx had been happy to stand behind Noct, hands on the man’s waist, as he explained the more familiar flowers— the way they had grown wild back home, and were picked and pressed and dried in the small kitchen his mother had managed like a kingdom of her own. He was happy, as the announcements came for dinner, to compare the bright, wild colours of his homeland to the simple elegance of Noct’s own favourite flowers that seemed to grow like weeds along the garden paths.

It was the smell of the dinner that brought them back to heel. Back to the reset tables, and the speeches and the toasts. To the reminder that they were there for the kingdom, not a walk through the blossoming, flowering spring gardens. 

The roast set out for inspection before serving glistened with a citrus glaze, the golden touch and smell of Duscaen oranges hanging heavy over the diners as they resettled. 

“Some vegetables,” Regis admonished, as Noct eyed up the bright colours of the carrots and peas and their respective dishes separated from the main attraction of the meat. 

Nyx grinned as he leaned close to the prince to mutter; “I’ll take them, little star.”

It was a traditional Lucian meal— the glazes made of honey and citrus, the delicate pastas to hide the less popular greens. The colours all as fresh as the season, and no where near as heady or heavy as Nyx thought a feast should be. 

The headlines in the morning, despite the attention paid to the king at the time, were all of Noct and his guest. Splashes of Nyx sitting with the royals, smiling with them, at ease as Noct traded meat for vegetables with Nyx’s plate, were spread across the morning news with the rumours and speculations that would always follow them. 

In the morning, Nyx just knew that he would never live down the image of accepting that strawberry from Noct, set firmly beneath the headline of “A Royal Sweetheart.”


End file.
